


Not Soon Enough

by erenmin



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Set Before the Game, mention of arthur/eliza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 12:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17223731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erenmin/pseuds/erenmin
Summary: Maybe Arthur should have promised sooner. Maybe he should have never left.





	Not Soon Enough

“Pa, please don’t leave!” Isaac clung onto the collar of Arthur’s jacket tightly, his face buried into his shoulder. Isaac was usually good with goodbyes each time Arthur visited, Arthur scooping the small boy up into his arms and squeezing him closer to his body, as if to leave an imprint of him on Arthur after. There was never an imprint, but his warmth always lingered within Arthur as he rode away.

“I’ll be back before you know it boy, don’t worry,” Arthur gently rubbed his son’s back, rocking him slightly by shifting from foot to foot. 

“You’re always gone for a long time! I don’t wanna wait ‘til next time!” 

Arthur chuckled lowly at Isaac’s reply, feeling his heart swell. “Tell you what, how about I come back sooner; say next month? Your birthday is next month isn’t it? I’ll come back then and I’ll have a nice big present for you and I’ll spend more time here next time, okay?” Isaac lifted his head up and nodded in agreement, his eyes still filled with tears and his mouth in a small pout. Arthur brought his free hand up to Isaac’s face and wiped the tears away from his cheeks. He was a spitting image of Arthur, with the same sandy brown hair and blue eyes.

Arthur set Isaac back on his feet and put his attention to Eliza who put a reassuring hand on Isaac’s shoulder as she stood behind him. “Thank you Arthur, for everything.” She said that at the end of every visit, referring to the money Arthur always gave her and for helping as much as he could with Isaac.

“Always,” Arthur nodded in her direction, then ruffled Isaac’s hair before he walked down the stairs of the small house and got onto his horse. “Buck up, buddy. Be strong and good for your ma, okay?” Isaac nodded at him and waved as Arthur rode away, until he couldn’t see him anymore and Arthur had stopped turning around every couple seconds like he always did.

*** 

Like Arthur had promised, he was able to come sooner and arrive the day of Isaac’s sixth birthday in the early hours of the morning. It was almost as if Boadicea could sense Arthur’s heightened mood and excitement as she seemed to have a bit of pep in her trot down the familiar trail toward the small house. A chocolate bar and a book for Isaac was stored safely in his satchel as the house appeared in his line of sight, along with two unfamiliar figures in the front yard. There was also no laundry hung out or any toys forgotten in the yard, a pit in Arthur’s stomach fully present once he reached the yard.

He identified the figures in the yard as crosses, and he instantly knew who laid below them. His feet caught him at the last second as he got off his horse and kneeled down to the ground. Everything seemed to go in slow motion, and he felt sadness, then rage, then emptiness. He knew it wasn’t an accident. He knew sickness wasn’t the cause. He knew something or someone had caused this and Eliza and Isaac were the innocent victims. 

Arthur’s assumptions were soon confirmed by an older woman who lived nearby and seemed to have recognized him and noticed him sitting by their graves. Just last week a group of bandits had rode through one night and shot and killed them for ten dollars that Eliza had gotten from Arthur three weeks before. Arthur didn’t understand; why them? Arthur was the outlaw, the robber, the killer, why didn’t he get this fate instead? Why didn’t he get to be the protector for them like he promised? Why did such a sweet girl and an innocent, goody boy have to have such an ugly and evil fate? 

That realization filled Arthur with rage. He wanted to find those bastards and slit their throats and pay for what they did to the only pure things he had. But he knew he would be outnumbered, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask Dutch or Hosea or John to get revenge. Revenge was a fool’s game, and Arthur couldn’t let himself turn into a fool and just ride into a fool’s end by trying to find them. 

He knew he should’ve been there for Isaac more, he shouldn’t have only come by a couple times out of the year to be with the gang instead. He thought the cuts he got from jobs being fully donated to Eliza to help feed and clothe the boy made up for it, but he was a fool to think that. He couldn’t be there to protect them when they needed him the most, and he knows that they would still be here if he was there. 

He would’ve been celebrating with them, getting a lecture from Eliza for giving the boy a chocolate bar almost half his size and making him bounce off the walls from the sugar, and later he would’ve read the book he got for Isaac as a bedtime story then teach him how to read it the next day. But instead he was sat in the dirt by their graves, their final resting places.

He had to pay for his sins, and he would pay by never being able to watch his boy grow, he would never hold him in his arms again and feel his warmth. He would never see Eliza continue to grow as a mother to Isaac and possibly marry her in the far future so he could have his own family. All he had now was memories of them that seemed so far away and already so long ago and the only proof he had of the family he had were the crooked crosses that seemed to have been thrown up quickly and carelessly.

He fixed the crosses by straightening them out then carving their names the best he could onto them and placing them back into the ground, he didn’t even know who was buried where. He then went to the small garden Eliza kept and pulled some flowers to place in front of the crosses, as if to try to make up for not being there. But nothing could make up for what happened, and all Arthur could do then was sit by their graves for what seemed like eternity while he tried to write or draw in his journal. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t put the moment into words. He couldn’t bring himself to sketch their final resting places, he didn’t need to. All he could do was shift his attention between each cross and think of a new regret as each moment passed by. 

Maybe he should have come sooner.

Maybe he should have never left.


End file.
